


I'm Not Anti-Social; I Just Prefer Listening To Punk-Rock

by fandomstakeoveryourlife



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxious Tom, Bullied Tom, Bullying, Depressed Tom, Emo Tom, Foreign Tord, Foster Kid Tom, Gay Parents, Grumpy Tom, M/M, New kid Tord, Panic Attacks, Pastel Tord, Piercings, Punk Tom, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomstakeoveryourlife/pseuds/fandomstakeoveryourlife
Summary: Socialising was never really Tom's thing and being nice wasn't something he was especially good at. But maybe someone might be able to come along and change that.





	1. Chapter 1

School had never been something that Tom liked. I mean, why would he? He had to spend 6 hours, surrounded by idiotic, narrow minded people his age that seemed to think everyone had to be a certain way and despised anyone who didn't follow that rule. Not to mention the shithead teachers, who either basically didn't teach at all, were strict beyond belief, or were as sweet as honey and oblivious to pretty much everything that happened in the classroom.

Then, there were the ones that went the extra mile. Not the ones who were smart-asses, no; the ones who went out of their way to make the different kids feel especially unwelcome and out of place. Kids like Tom. Kids who seemed to just want to express themselves and not bumble along like sheep and get lost in the crowds of students who all looked and acted the same.

Tom didn't like tuneless pop music; he liked rock and metal and punk and grunge and alternative. He had an actual taste in music, in his opinion. He didn't wear trendy outfits, made up completely of expensive brand clothes; he wore black; ripped black skinny jeans, black and white checkered converse, black band tees, black jackets, baggy black or blue hoodies, slouchy black knitted beanies. He didn't like girls; he liked boys. He wore jewelry too; he had multiple piercings in both ears, with black rings and studs, as well as black plastic stretchers in his lobes. He had a lip ring too, in the left side of his lip, and an eyebrow bar in his right eyebrow. The one, kind of rule, he did follow, was having tattoos; all the 'cool' guys seemed to have them.

The shrill screech of the bell jerked Tom from his thoughts and began to drive him to the double doors that led to the packed school corridors. He hitched his bag up his shoulder and elbowed his way through the jostling hallway. He wasn't all that tall, but he could still see over a considerable number of heads. He locked his eyes onto one of the classroom doors that fed off of the corridor; his destination. Shoving a petite blonde girl out of his path, he continued forwards and reached the door with ease. He turned the handle and slipped inside.

As Tom walked up one of the isles to his seat near the back, a dark haired boy stuck his foot out at the last moment. Unfortunately for him, Tom had expected it and smoothly averted the foot by stepping carefully over it. He ignored the muttered grunt of "Fag" that soon followed. He progressed to the back of the room and collapsed heavily into his seat. 

The one thing that Tom liked about Maths, was the fact that he never, _ever_   had anyone sitting next to him; nobody wanted to. He knew it should probably offend him or something, but, strangely, it didn't. He liked to be able to spread his stuff across the double seated space. He liked the unlimited elbow room. He liked not having to talk to anyone and at least pretend he liked them and be civil and polite.

The teacher, Mr Kylar, stood at the front of the class, a fresh stick of white chalk gripped loosely in his wrinkled fingers. For some reason, he hated the idea of interactive whiteboards, or even normal white boards, and insisted in writing on a blackboard with horribly squeaky chalk. The worst thing, though, was when the class was being too noisy, or he was getting irritated, he would scratch his fingernails over the blackboard and make that awful screeching sound that everyone hates.

A knock at the classroom door made everyone's head snap around to stare at it. The door swung open to reveal a short, dark haired boy, with a shorter, caramel haired boy standing by his side. The dark haired boy smiled pleasantly at the teacher, and received a similar smile in return.

"What can I do for you boys?" Mr Kylar asked, putting down his chalk, threading his knobbly fingers together and letting his arms go lax so his hands fell comfortably against the top of his legs.

"This is Tord, sir; he's new. He only just got his timetable and I was supposed to show him around." The boy explained, gesturing to the teen beside him. 

"Quite alright. Nice to meet you, Tord, come in." Mr Kylar made a quick gesture with his hands and Tord entered the classroom. The door swung shut with a _bang_ and Tom tried to hide his flinch at the loud noise, not that he thought anyone would notice. Tord stood beside the desk as the teacher scribbled something down on the pink slip of paper that he'd handed him. 

As he stood there, Tom got a good look at the teenager. Other than his small stature, his other most prominent feature was his hair. It managed to flop over his hazel eyes in a fringe and stick up in two horn like spikes at the same time. He was adorning a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a pair of matching converse, a pale pink hoodie and a flower crown on his head. Ugh, it made Tom want to throw up.

"There you are." Mr Kylar announced, handing it back. "Why don't you go take a seat next to Tom? He's the one at the back in the blue hoodie." All the eyes in the room followed Tord as he made his way to the back of the class and towards Tom's desk. Tom had shifted to the edge of desk, as far away from the other side as he could. Tord sat down in the empty seat and smiled politely at him. 

"Hello, how do you do?" His voice held a thick accent that Tom didn't quite recognise; it sounded kind of like a Russian accent, but not quite. Tord's way of speaking sounded way more formal than Tom was used to hearing. Yes, they were in England, but still, they weren't in the fucking palace with the Queen. Tom suddenly realised that Tord was expecting an answer from him.

"If you fuck off and leave me alone, then just fine." He growled, tensing up his jaw and gritting his teeth together. He ignored the shocked and mildly hurt expression that flashed across shorter teen's face. Hopefully, Tord would swiftly make some friends and sit with them so Tom could have his double desk back. Though, if he was foreign, the chance of that happening was pretty slim. Maybe the girls would find his intense accent attractive, or sexy, and then he'd be popular, or something?

Tom turned his attention back to the teacher, who'd started up his lesson again. Next to him, Tord was still riffling through his bag, pulling out several tightly packed pencil cases, a couple of textbooks, and, eventually, a thick pad of white lined paper. He slapped the pad down onto the desk. Tom flinched at the sharp noise and either Tord didn't notice or he just didn't care. Tom hoped it wasn't the latter. Shoving the textbooks and two of pencil cases back in his bag, Tord sat back up properly and listened to the teacher.

There were so many places Tom would rather be than there in that moment in time. 

He struggled through the lesson without saying another word to Tord. He kept to his 'side' of the desk and pretended there was a wall between them. Tom really wasn't in the space to deal with another human being, especially not some new kid in his maths class that was sitting next to him. As he raked his eyes over his messily scrawled notes, he saw that they made pretty much no sense what so ever. Tom heaved out a sigh and made not effort to change them; it'd be fine.

The bell signalling the end of lesson one rung out through the hall and into the classrooms. Instantly, the room burst into chaos. Over the high volume of chatter, Mr Kylar yelled something about homework and it being on the school system. Tom shoved his stuff into his worn backpack as hastily as he could. He slung it over and turned for the door. A hand grabbed his upper arm, causing him to jerk away violently and swing around to glare at the culprit. Tord stared back at him with wide eyes.

"Don't fucking touch me." Tom snarled viciously.

"S-Sorry." Tord stuttered. "Can you show me to my next class?" 

Tom glared harder at him. "No." Then he turned and stormed out of the classroom and into the swarms of students in the corridor. He couldn't be seen with a new kid, particularly not one dressed the way Tord was; he'd get bullied even worse. 

It was strange for Tom to get bullied. In his old schools, he'd been feared and left alone. At this one, he was left alone for the most part, but not just because kids were afraid of him. Eduardo and his shithead cronies seemed to think that they were higher up than Tom and for that reason they could humiliate him and beat him up whenever they deemed appropriate. To be honest, he was getting tired of lying to everyone by this point. Tired of covering for three guys who hated his guts. But he knew it would get so much worse if she knew.

Dread began to pool in Tom's stomach as he realised what lesson he had next; Chemistry. Chemistry was a subject that he was actually pretty good at, but the teacher was off on maternity leave, and would be for another month. So far they'd had at least 6 teachers replacing her. They usually taught the class for about 2-3 months, then switched out for another teacher. The one that was currently teaching the class, seemed to have something against Tom; she fucking hated him.

She would humiliate and mock him at every given opportunity, and Tom had no idea why. For some reason, she'd decided that Tom wasn't having a difficult enough time at school and obviously needed to suffer more; as if he hadn't already suffered enough in his short lifetime. 

Tom made the split second decision to skip class. He turned down a hall to his left and strode in the direction of the school library. He'd tried to hide out in the toilets before, but a teacher always seemed to find him, either that or the one of the maintenance guys would and they were all grumpy as hell and would report him to a teacher, or someone. Whereas, in the library, he could hide behind many a towering bookshelf, plus, he'd made friends with the old librarian and if anyone came in asking around for him, she would lie. Tom liked her.

Pushing open one of the heavy double doors, Tom stepped inside the library and was instantly greeted by the dense scent of books. He let the door shut behind him as he walked through the front area and towards the back. He smiled in greeting to the librarian, who smiled back. He swiftly found a corner tucked away behind several shelves and dropped down onto the large beanbag that had been placed there. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the book he'd been reading for several days now; Eragon. 

Tom wasn't all that big for books, but when he found the right one, he couldn't put it down for days. Eragon was a rather thick book with small print and wafer thin pages, but Tom didn't care; he was completely absorbed in the world of dragon riders.

He was so absorbed, in fact, that he didn't notice the bell ring for break. He only realised it had rung when the noise level in the library picked up and more students began to empty in for studying, homework, and use of the computers that sat against the wall at the far back of the library. Tom stowed the book back away in his bag, rose to his feet and left the library to buy something from the school cafeteria.

*     *     *     *

It was after school and Tom was walking home. The route he always took was neither the longest, nor the shortest, but it took him a good 25-30 minutes to walk at a good pace. Eleanor, his foster mom, continually offered to give him lifts to and from school, but that would mean more relentless bullying, plus he wouldn't get to listen to half as many songs on his phone as he did when he walked. Also, Tom liked to people watch and study his fellow students as he walked; don't ask, he knew it was weird.

Today, ahead of him, walked the new kid, Tord, with two other guys, one of them being the dark haired guy from earlier. The pair were both openly gay, and whilst they occasionally received shit about it, they generally didn't. Tom suspected it was because the other guy, who had ginger hair, was adored by most of the girls in school, for some reason. Tom had his earphones in, so he couldn't hear them, but he predicted that they were talking about Tord's first day. He had no doubt that he would come up in the story some where.

Tord threw his arms open in wide gesture and the other two seemed to laugh. Tom felt a sharp pang in his chest; he wished he had friends like that. How could Tom have been there for way longer than Tord, yet Tord already had two friends, and Tom had none? He sighed and adjusted his shoulder staps; they were digging in. He turned his focus to studying the houses that he was walking by. He knew his would be soon.

Tom watched the dark haired boy and the ginger turn left down a drive to a house, waving goodbye to Tord as they did so. He watched Tord glance back at him and a look that Tom couldn't read flashed across his face; it made something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. Luckily, two streets later, his house came up on the left and he pushed open the gate, before walking down the short garden path to the front door.

Knowing Eleanor would be in, he turned the door handle and stepped inside the house.

The hallway was silent as Tom shut the door and toed off his converse and nudged them against the wall. "Hello?" He called out, butting open the kitchen door with his shoulder.

"Hello, Tom. How was your day?" Eleanor was stood at one of the marble counter tops, kneading floury bread dough with her hands. She had a blue and white striped apron on over a pale blue blouse that was rolled up at her elbows. She was a woman with a short stature and sweet personality, though she wasn't someone to completely smother you. She was fair and just, but could turn into an absolute dragon if necessary.

Tom dropped his bag onto the island and slumped onto one of the bar stools. He sighed. "It was okay." He replied honestly. 

Eleanor frowned at him. "Just okay? Are those three guys still bothering you?" She (and her husband) was pretty much the adults who knew about the issues with Eduardo and his little gang.

"Yeah, but it's not like they're ever _really_ gonna stop."

"Are you sure you don't want me to talk to the school about it?" 

Tom nodded hastily. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay then." There was a moment of silence. "Anything else happen?"

Tom shook his head. "No."

"Alright, don't forget your social worker is coming over on Thursday, so make sure you're home from school by 4, okay?"

Tom nodded and picked up his bag, before leaving the kitchen and padding up the stairs in his socks. It was Monday, so he had a couple of days. He didn't mind his social worker, Karen, but it was never exactly fun when she visited. He entered his bedroom and dumped his bag on the floor then collapsed face first on the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom fell asleep in his first lesson, at least, he had, until Tord walked in late and the  _slam_ of the classroom door startled him out of his slumber. Through blurry eyes, he watched as Tord shuffled across the room and slumped down in a seat at an empty desk. Tom wondered why Tord hadn't sat in the spare seat next to him, but only for a moment. He noticed that the boy appeared far less energetic and friendly, apposed to the day before, when he'd seemed to want to make as many friends as possible. Maybe he'd realised that not everyone wanted to be friends with some weird new kid, or maybe it was something else.

Tom yawned widely and tried to focus on the Maths equation on the board; he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He'd barely touched his food that Eleanor had prepared; something had felt off; he'd felt weird all afternoon and evening after school. He'd been exhausted for hours, but when he went up to bed early, his eyes just wouldn't stay closed. He'd told himself it was because he was apprehensive about Karen, his social worker, visiting on Thursday, even though that was 3 days away and he'd never been nervous about something like that in the past. He slept fitfully and was awake at 5 in the morning, while it was still dark outside, unable to fall back to sleep.

Another yawn cracked his jaw and Tom blinked his eyes several times to clear the fog from his vision. He glanced over in Tord's direction and caught him staring his way. Tord flicked his eyes away as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. The weird feeling from the night before had begun to return, coiling and twisting in the pit of Tom's stomach. He felt sick.

Tom inhaled and exhaled deeply, before refocusing his wavering attention on the board.

*     *     *     *

Tom usually avoided the lunch hall at lunch time. For obvious reasons of course; one, far too fucking many people. Two, he'd have no one to sit with. Three, the room was far too noisy for his liking. Pus, he hated watching, and hearing, other people eat; it was fucking gross. Tom had a few places he commonly chose to sit to eat his minimal lunch; under the bleachers with the other few kids who didn't fit in, like one or two super nerdy kids who sat ready, or a trembling guy who'd been kept back a few year, that offered everyone under there cigarettes and a couple of his prescribed medication, not to mention the minute Russian ginger girl who was as feisty as tiger, plus the Polish guy with the name no one could pronounce, who spoke limited English and was so tall he reminded Tom of a giraffe.

Another place was behind the science block, mainly because pretty much no one went over there at lunch time, and those that did were too terrified of Tom to bother him. Though, he had been thrown into the dumpsters behind the block one too many times for his liking, so he tended to frequent that place the least. The two places were the English block roof and the library. 

Today, Tom chose the bleachers. 

He sat towards the open end, leaning against a concrete post. It was horribly uncomfortable and dug into painfully into his back in a way that bound to leave bruises, but he didn't care, as long as he was feeling something and it kept him awake. He had already eaten most of the ham sandwich Eleanor had packed for him that morning, but his stomach still felt weirdly twisted and he'd dumped the last quarter in a bin nearby. Now, he held a cigarette loosely between two of his pale fingers. His hands were shaking a little.

From where he was sat, he could see a smattering of wooden picnic benches. At one, was sat Tord and is two apparent 'friends'.

"Hey, Barney, who's the ginger over there?" Tom called without turning round to face the boy he was speaking to. Even though the guy had an awful stutter and dealt his own medication around school, he seemed to know who everyone was and at least three things about each person.

"That-that's-s M-Matt." Barney replied from over Tom's right shoulder.

Tom nodded. "What about the dark haired guy next to him?" 

"Edd. Th-They're d-d-dat-ting." 

Tom nodded again and took a heavy drag from his cigarette. He lifted his head a little and saw that the three were looking in his direction. Quickly, he averted his black pooling eyes, though he wasn't quite sure why; it wasn't like he was the one getting caught staring. Tom exhaled the smoke from his lungs in a soft grey cloud. The burning sensation in his chest instantly told him he'd held it in fro too long. He swallowed hard, desperate not to cough like he wanted to and look like a total idiot.

Stubbing out the remainder of the cigarette, Tom rose to his feet, slightly less fluidly then he'd hoped. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he could practically feel the old threads tugging and tearing. Eleanor kept saying she'd buy him a new one, but they just hadn't gotten around to it yet, though he wasn't quite sure if he believe that. Tom muttered a quick "Bye" to the other teenagers under the bleachers and began to stride away in the direction of the main school building. Maybe his English teacher would let him sit in the classroom until lunch ended; he was suddenly feeling very vulnerable sat there in the direct view of Tord, Edd and Matt, for some reason.

*     *     *     *

The day was finally fucking over; Tom was free! Well, if he could escape the school grounds without running into anyone first, that is.

"Fag! Hey, Fag!" 

Aw Fuck, spoke too soon.

Tom knew better than to run and slowed his walk down, though he didn't stop. Maybe it would just be name calling. Maybe they'd let him go-

Suddenly, he was being slammed face first into a set of lockers. Tom just about managed to conceal the pained grunt that threatened to burst free; the last thing he wanted as another broken nose. Someone flipped him round and he found himself being pinned back against the lockers, Eduardo leaning into his personal space with an ugly grimace in place on his equally ugly face. The thought made Tom want to laugh, but he didn't dare.

"Didn't see you after school yesterday, Fag. Escape us, did you?" The three laughed harshly and Tom struggled against the tight grip of Jon and Mark. Sometimes Tom wondered if they really hated him as well, or if they just went along with what Eduardo said because they didn't want to end up with a similarly harsh fate. He twisted his left arm desperately, attempting to wiggle it free of Jon's grip, but alas, no avail.

A strong punch to the stomach brought his attention back to Eduardo. Doubled over, Tom gasped for breath. "That all you got?" He rasped. The other boy laughed and lunged again, but Tom ducked out of the way this time and Eduardo yelped like a wounded dog as his meaty fist came into contact with one of the metal lockers, hard. Tom would have laughed, but his stomach hurt like hell and he didn't exactly have time.

Using, his leg, he swept Mark's legs out from underneath him and bolted down the very nearly empty corridor. He burst out through a set of double doors and swiftly exited through the metal gate, before legging it, as fast as his legs and lungs would allow, away from the school. 

When Tom eventually stopped, he was completely breathless and he had to lean against a wall to get his breath back. Sweat was trickling down his back and when he swiped his hand across his forehead, it came back slick and mildly sticky. Gasping a little, Tom stood up fully and stretched out his aching stomach muscles. There was no doubt he'd have a bruise there from Eduardo; man that guy could throw a punch.

Sometimes, Tom considered taking up some sort of physical self defense sport, like Judo, or Kickboxing. But he was concerned that he might see kids from school there, or Eleanor would question it, or even say no, that it was too violent, or something. Though, maybe she'd day yes 'cause he wasn't exactly exercising in any way, other than mandatory school P.E. lessons, which fucking sucked in his opinion.

With his breath now back, Tom eased himself off the wall and readjusted his backpack straps on his shoulders. As he continued on his way in the direction of home, his thoughts drifted to Tord. 

Tord, had been wearing an outfit similar to his one the day before; a pair of rose pink jeans with rips in the knees, a white tee shirt and a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled half way up his forearms. Tom swallowed hard as the image of Tord in Maths that morning formed in his head. Maybe he'd realised that Tom was just an asshole; an asshole who didn't have or deserve friends.

He wondered if Edd and Matt had told Tord all about him. When he joined the school shortly after being fostered by Eleanor and Darren, it barely took a week before someone found out about his past and shared it with pretty much the whole school. Fuck. It'd been awful, just like his old schools; they always found out, somehow.

A lump began to form in his throat and Tom realised his eyes were wet. Hastily, he rubbed at them with the sleeve of his baggy black hoodie. Huffing out a sigh, he shoved his hands back in his pockets with a harsh sniff. Couldn't those damn thoughts just leave him the fuck alone? 

It felt like his house appeared on the left sooner than usual and he found himself turning left into the garden, shutting the little gate behind himself. As he did so, he spotted the three friends walking along the pavement not far behind. He decided not to act on it and traipsed into the semi-detached house.

*     *     *     *

Eleanor and Darren had gone out to dinner with one of Darren's workmates and his partner, so Tom had the house to himself for the evening. Usually, he stayed up late until they got home, watching TV, playing videogames and raiding the kitchen cupboards for junk food, but that evening, he felt weirdly off again and texted Eleanor to let her know he was going to shower and probably go to bed early. A message came back quickly, saying "That's fine, just remember to lock the front and back door before you do so :)" 

Tom now stood in the bathroom, having locked both doors carefully beforehand. He dropped his jeans and tugged off his shirt. He examined the bruise that had already formed on his stomach in one of the mirrors. It was slightly swollen, a deep purplish black and hurt to touch. It was shaped vaguely like a fist too. Tom smirked a little to himself and ran his finger over it again, ignoring the slight twinge of pain that spiked through his navel. 

Stripping off his remaining clothing, he ran the shower and stepped in. The hot water felt incredible against his sore muscles and Tom could practically feel the knots undoing themselves under the relaxing flow. The water soaked through his hair and made it flop down over his eyes. He pushed it back and stood with his face under the heavy stream of water.

Tom showered until the water ran cold, then he turned off the faucet and stepped out. Wrapping himself in warm, slightly threadbare, towel, he dried off and tiptoed back to his room, being careful to not drip any excess water on the wooden floorboards as he went; Eleanor hated that. In the safety of his room, he dropped the towel and pulled on a clear pair of boxers, followed by some loose sweat pants and an old Metallica tee shirt and a very over sized, faded blue hoodie that he left unzipped and hanging loosely off his slim frame.

The hot water of the shower had left him feeling awake and vaguely energised, so he sat down at the desk in the corner of his room and lifted the lid of the laptop that Darren had bought for him when he'd moved in with them. It had made him feel weirdly overly spoilt when he'd first moved in; Darren bought him a laptop and a phone, even if they weren't the newest models or whatever, it still felt like way too much, plus, Eleanor took him clothes shopping too and was insistent on buying him all the clothes he wanted, or even vaguely liked.

Tom had typed in the passcode and now pulled up his Facebook account. He scrolled down the page, more looking for something to do than anything else. Flicking his eyes over the suggested accounts, he spotted Tord's. It had a selfie as the profile picture. One of Tord an open red checkered shirt and a white tee shirt, with a flower crown on, his head titled a little to one side, his pink tongue poking out through the corner of his lips.

Tom realised he'd been staring, kinda creepily actually, at the picture for some time. Shaking his head and blinking rapidly, he continued scrolling down the page, barely taking in the other posts. He glanced at the time and saw that it was 10:30. It wasn't that late, but he didn't want to fall asleep in class again, so he powered down the laptop and shut the lid, a little more forcefully than was probably necessary.

He switched off the light and collapsed down on the bed. Tom pulled the covers up and over himself, though his mind felt like it was buzzing. Feeling around in the darkness, he grasped his phone and earphones, then plugged them in and shoving them in his ears. He found a playlist and clicked on it. The sound of Paramore filled his ears and he switched off his phone, before shoving it under his pillow and letting his eyes slide closed in the darkness of his quiet room.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom couldn't concentrate in English; his skull felt like it was buzzing. His mind was whirling and thoughts kept flitting through his head at rapid fire. He felt sick. He told himself it was because Karen was dropping by the house that evening for a visit to check up on him. Even though it was stupid, because he never got nervous, or like this, when his social worker was coming to visit. Never. He tapped the end of his pencil on the desk. He felt restless too, like he just wanted to move, and not stay still.

The bell for end of lesson two before break rang out through the school building. As Tom slung his bag over his shoulder and left the mind numbing classroom, he saw that Edd and Matt had waited for Tord outside. A lump formed in his throat and Tom snapped his head away from them. He shouldn't let himself get distracted by something as stupid and petty as that. He cursed himself inside his mind and kept heading in the direction of the library.

Winding his way through the immensely tall bookshelves, he found a snug little corner to sit by himself. Collapsing down into the overly squishy armchair that squatted there beside a stubby side table, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out _Eragon_ ,before continuing from where he left off from two days previously. He thought his mind was completely focused on the paperback book in his hands, until he heard Tords voice from the other side of the bookshelf he was nestled behind. 

"Here? Is good place to sit?" Yep definitely Tord. The dull sound of chairs scraping over rough carpet was muffled by the huge wall of bookshelf between them. Tom shook his head at himself and returned to his book. He was able to tune out their pointless conversation, until he heard his own name pop up.

"What do you think of Tom?" 

"What? Which Tom do you mean? There are _loads_ of Toms in this school." That was unmistakably Edd. Tom could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Er, you know, the rude one, with the weird black eyes." 

"Ohhh, you mean Thomas Ridgewell."

"Yes! Him!"

"Well, I guess I think the same as pretty much everyone else; he's strange, rude and kinda creepy."

"Plus his eyes are really freaky." That was Matt.

"So...He has always been like that?"

"Um, I don't know, really. He joined the school last year; he's in the care system. A rumour started up that he was gay and when it turned out to be true, well, everyone pretty much went crazy about it."

"Why? Is bad to be gay?"

"No. I think it's 'cause he was new, maybe? Who knows? Anyway, he just ended up being rude to everyone, by default I guess. Apparently he's on a shit ton of medication as well."

There was silence and Tom scarcely dared to breathe. Was that really how other people saw him? Yeah, he knew he had weird ass eyes and he could come across as a little snappy or short. But did everyone really see him as the depressed, overly rude, gay, freak asshole?

Nausea washed over him in sickening waves and Tom tried to remember how to breathe. He realised his hands were shaking and made an effort to carefully fold the corner of his page over, before letting the book fall into his lap. He tipped his head back and licked his lips slowly, breathing gingerly, yet deeply, each breath leaving his lips in a shaky exhale. 

The bell rang out again, but Tom didn't get up from his chair; he stayed curled into the fabric covered cushions and let his thoughts consume him. They were streaking by again; there for a moment, then gone again. It was making his head ache ferociously. Then something presented itself brightly in his mind. 

Why should he care?

Why should he care what they thought?

It was their opinion, not some rule or religion that had to be followed. That was just what they thought. Yeah, he could be irritable and rude a times, but not always. They just didn't know the full story, or the full him, for that matter. They seemed to think they knew who he was, and all he'd been through, but they really didn't.

Tom gritted his teeth and tensed his jaw so hard it hurt. Fuck 'em. He picked his book back up from his jeans clad legs and opened it up again. He folded the corner back up and returned to his slow paced reading. 

*     *     *     *

"Hello?"

Tom shut the front door behind him and toed off his shoes. As he nudged them against the wall like usual, he noticed a pair of brown heeled boots. He easily knew that they belonged to Karen. Other than the fact that she always wore the same shoes, Eleanor would never, ever wear boots like that, of that style. A slight smirk glanced over his lips and Tom pushed the door open to the kitchen, where he could hear the faint murmuring of voices coming from.

Three heads turned to look at him as he came in. Eleanor, Darren and Karen were all seated on barstools around one corner of the marble top island, with Eleanor and Darren sitting on one side and Karen sitting on the other. They each had a mug of something hot in front of them and the biscuit tin sat with the metal lid off in the middle of their little cluster. As per usual, there were crumbs around Karen's space; she was pretty much the messiest eater Tom knew.

"Tom! Lovely to see you! Sit down. How are you? Tell us about your day?" Karen was smiling widely at him, all of her glistening white teeth on show; it reminded Tom of a shark before it eats its prey. Her face was covered in its usual makeup and her bleach blonde hair hung down in perfect curls. She seemed to be the same as ever, chatty and overly excited. Ugh.

Tom dumped his backpack on the floor and slumped onto one of the bar stools. "I'm okay. School was," he paused, how had school been? "School was fine, boring." He shrugged. "It was school."

Karen laughed, her pearly teeth flashing in the over head light blindingly. Eleanor had fixed Tom with a look, like she knew something and wanted an answer. "Actually, Tom," she began, "the school called earlier. They said you weren't in your third and fourth lessons. Any idea why that was?" All three adults were looking at him now, with piercing, merciless eyes.

Tom fidgeted under their harsh gazes; he suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable and anxious. "Didn't feel like it." He mumbled, not meeting their eyes. He could feel his palms sweating and he wiped them on his jeans, leaving dark streaks up the black denim. 

Karen sighed. She sounded a little irritated and disappointed. Oh fuck, here it comes. "Oh dear, Tom. You know you can't just skip out on lessons at school because you 'don't feel like it'. Education is important if you want to do well in life, okay? We completely understand if you're struggling at all, but you need to at least try, okay? And you know you can always come to us, if you need to, okay?" 

Tom wanted to vomit, but he nodded anyway. He really hated the habit she had of talking down to him.

Karen smiled sweetly at him. "Well, let's not focus on the negative, okay?" She paused for a moment before continuing. "How have you settled in? I know you've been living here for a year now, but how does everything feel? Any concerns? Anything you want to ask? Or know about?"

Tom sat silently for a moment, running over things in his mind. "I think...I'm doing okay. The other kids are...difficult sometimes. They think they understand and know about me...but they don't. I hate that they assume."

Karen pressed her lips together. Tom flicked his eyes away from her. He felt a little awkward admitting these things in front of the three adults sitting opposite him. But, at the same time, it felt good, beneficial, like it was lifting a weight off of his shoulders. He felt less tense, more relaxed. 

"Are any of your peers giving you any trouble, at school?" Karen had tilted her head to one side, like an inquisitive dog.

Tom glanced a Eleanor. She gave him a look like she wanted him to say something, about the issues he'd been having with Eduardo and his shithead cronies. 

"Um, yeah, actually." He paused and took a deep breath. "These three guys, they won't leave me alone, keep bothering me and shit. They humiliate me and make fun of me at every fucking chance they get. It just makes me wanna fucking strangle them, hurt them back." Tom remembered to breathe again. He realised he was shaking.

"Why didn't you say anything before? We could've sorted this out ages ago." Darren was frowning at him, with concern and mild frustration. 

Tom squirmed under his burning gaze. "Eleanor knew." Darren shot his wife a sharp look, who shrugged. "I asked her not to tell." Tom's voice dropped to a whisper. "If you do something, it'll just make it worse."

"Tom, it's okay." 

Tom suddenly noticed how uneven his breathing had gotten, how fast his heart was thumping in his chest and how his entire body was trembling.

Eleanor leaned over the island to comfort him. Tom flinched away, then squeezed his eyes tight shut. "Sorry." He mumbled, pressing his lips together so they disappeared. He sniffed and wiped his damp eyes roughly with the well worn cuffs of his baggy hoodie.

"Okay, we won't do anything about that for the time being. But, if it gets worse, you need to tell someone, so it can be sorted, okay?" Karen was watching him with bright eyes. Tom nodded and sniffed again. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and curled them inwards, hiding his face in them a little.

The three adults smiled gently at him. "Okay then. I would like to have a little more of a chat with Eleanor and Darren, okay?" Tom nodded and slid carefully off his stool, then slung his bag back over his shoulder. He left the kitchen and padded tiresomely up the stairs.

When Tom stood in his room with the door shut, he found he scarcely hear the talking happening downstairs. There was very faint rumble of distant voices, but it was barely more than a gentle vibration through the wooden floorboards beneath he socked feet. He let his bag fall off his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull  _thud_. The near silence of the room was beginning to make him uncomfortable, along with the dense air that seemed to weigh down on his lungs.

Tom inhaled deeply and picked his laptop up off of his desk. He flopped onto his bed and placed the device on his legs, he pulled up the screen and set about turning it on and unlocking it. His mind flicked back to the day before. Tord had ignored him all day, then, at lunchtime, when Tom had huddled under the bleachers again, smoking, he' caught his eye and smiled pleasantly at him. 

Tom had been a caught off guard and unsure. He'd smiled back, though it had merely been a brief quirk of the corners of his mouth. Then Tord had turned his head away, a frown tugging on his lips and puckering his forehead. Tom's expression had quickly become a scowl and he had turned his head away, focusing back on his cigarette, whioch had nearly burnt down to the filter by this point.

The noise of the laptop made Tom jump and his vision unblurred, the brightly lit screen coming into focus. He found himself logging onto Facebook and scrolling down his feed. Another noise made him jump again and a little notification appeared in the corner of the screen. Frowning, Tom clicked on it. It was a friend request, from Tord.

Tom quirked an eyebrow. What the fuck? This was the guy who had called him rude earlier, and said he had weird eyes (okay, he could agree with that one). He blinked at the screen, his cursor hovering over the 'no' button. He swallowed, then flicked the mouse over and hit 'yes'. Now all he had to do was wait for Tord to add him back. Fuck, this was gonna be a mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom had a glorious habit of not looking where he was going when he was walking. Usually, he walked semi hunched over, earbuds in his ears playing overly loud music, his hood up, hands shoved forcefully in his pockets. This meant that he fairly frequently walked into things. Lampposts, sign posts and trees were the most common, that or other people.  Tom had gotten into school fairly early; though it was only to escape Eduardo and his shithead friends. He was walking in his usual fashion and was ignoring everyone one else in the corridor. 

Suddenly, he felt himself come into contact with something small and rather solid. 

Tom stumbled and barely kept his balance. His earphones got ripped out his ears and his hood fell back from his face. In front of him, on the floor, Tord was sat back on his butt, looking rather dazed with several books and papers scattered around him. Shit. 

"Fuck. I'm sorry; are you okay?" The words spilled out of Tom's mouth in one breath, his heart speeding up in his chest. He stuck out a hand to help the other teen up. Tord looked a mildly amused, but took Tom's outstretched hand and let himself be pulled up. As soon as their hands parted, Tom's felt oddly cold from the loss of warmth. He pushed the thought from his mind and set about helping gather up the fallen books and papers.

"Yes, I am okay." Tord smiled pleasantly at Tom as he was handed his work back. "Thank you."

"S'fine." Tom mumbled. The conversation he overheard between the three friends instantly came flooding back into his mind.

Had Tord really meant what he'd said?

Was he really that rude and annoying?

Tom blinked. He realised he'd zoned out and Tord had already walked off. He wondered how stupid he must look, standing in the middle of the corridor, by himself, staring off into space. Tom blinked again, then strode off in the direction of the library, in hope of getting some peaceful reading in before classes started.

*     *     *     *

The bleachers was where Tom had decided to eat lunch that day, and he was on his way there. He was winding his way through the packed corridors, trying to fight his way towards the set of double doors that led outside. As he forced his way through the doors and into the bright sunshine, he found himself being pulled roughly in the opposite direction he wanted to go. Someone yanked him around a corner so they were hidden away behind the kitchens and out by the huge metal dumpsters.

The person spun him around and shoved him back up against a wall. Tom found himself face to face with Eduardo, uncomfortably so. As the bully leaned in closer to his face, the sour smell of his breath infected Tom's nose; it made him want to gag. Two pairs of hands gripped his upper arms in a way that Tom knew would leave bruises. He twisted a little and the grip tightened, forcing right against the wall. His bag had slipped off his shoulder by now and sat next to his feet, in the way.

"You've escaped us for the last couple days, fag. But don't think you can avoid us for that long." Eduardo stepped back from Tom and turned away slightly, then he swung around and punched. Tom crumpled and found himself being held up by Jon and Mark. He ran his tongue over his lip, feeling the sharp sting as saliva trickled into the open wound of his now split lip. 

A hand pushed him fully back up and the fist slammed into his face again, his eye this time. Tom could practically feel the bruise beginning to form under the skin around his left eye. His vision had gone funny on one side; it was all blurry and his head was aching something fierce. The taste of blood was stronger in his mouth now. He wasn't sure if he'd bitten his tongue or if the blood from his split lip had leaked into his mouth through his parted lips.

There was one final hit to the stomach, before the two boys holding him up let go. Tom slumped gracelessly down the wall, wheezing weakly and trying desperately to get his vision to focus. He felt something wet and vaguely warm splattered across his cheek, then the sound of footsteps faded away from him; they seemed to echo endlessly around his head.

As Tom's vision began to slowly clear and the painful ache in his head started to dull a little, he pushed himself up the wall slightly, sitting up more. Panting, he tilted his head to one side. His bag was gone. Fuck. Tom sat up a little more and glanced around him, looking rather desperately for his bag, before noticing that the grubby lid of one of the huge bins was propped open against the crumbling brick wall behind it.

Tom groaned loudly and heaved himself up off the floor. He stumbled a little as made his way to the bin, before peering inside. He spotted his bag, partially buried in stinking mulch that half filled the bin. Huffing out a pained sigh, he leaned over into the container. He hooked his fingers under the handle on the top of the bag, then straightened up and tugged the bag out of the bin.

A look of disgust twisted Tom's face and he began to wipe the grime from the bottom part of his bag. Eventually, he just sighed irritably in defeat and slung the still dirty bag across his shoulder and limped from the small hidden courtyard. His stomach twisted and his head thumped as he strode in the direction of the bleachers again; being upright was making it hurt more.

Tom tripped over his feet as he passed by the table where Tord, Edd and Matt were sat. His shoes scrapped noisily against the floor, but he kept walking defiantly. He could feel three sets of eyes fixing onto him as he continued to make his way to the bleachers. Wheezing heavily, he slumped down onto the gritty ground beneath the metal seating and let his damp bag slide to the floor beside him.

A twitchy, shaking hand offered a cigarette to him. Tom took it eagerly and slotted it between his lips; he pulled the lighter from his jeans pocket and lit the fag. He slid the lighter away and exhaled hazy grey smoke from his nostrils. He could feel the smoke stinging the inside of his nose, but in moments in was merely a dull tingle that slipped his mind.

Pulling the cigarette from his closed lips, Tom let his eyes wander back in the direction of the three friends. But Tord was already staring shamelessly in his direction.

A pair of beautiful hazel eyes locked onto Tom's black pools. His eyebrows drew together and the corners of his mouth turned down a little. He looked concerned and mildly upset. Tom tore his eyes away and took another drag on his cigarette. He blew a thin stream of smoke out of his mouth. His eyes dragged themselves back to Tord before he could stop them.

Tord was still watching him, his light eyes had fixed themselves firmly onto Tom. A warm feeling spread across his lower abdomen and sent tingling sensations through his stomach. Suddenly, on an act of impulse, he pulled the smoking cigarette from between his lips and put it out against the rough, concrete post that his left shoulder was leaning against. 

Almost immediately, Tord's expression brightened a little and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and curved into a slight smile. Tom felt his cheeks begin to warm a little and he ducked his head down, a slight smile of his own gracing his lips. 

A hand nudged against his right shoulder, holding out another, slightly grubby, cigarette by his face. Tom shook his head. "Nah, I'm good man; I need my lungs." The twitching hand retracted and disappeared from his peripheral vision. Tom felt another warm sensation extend across his chest; he felt proud of himself.

*     *     *     *

Tom stepped out of the wrought iron gates with the thick bumbling crowd of teenage students. The noise of the chatter erupting from their mouths was deafening and Tom paused a moment slightly up the pavement, tucked in a short driveway to let the majority of group by so he could walk in peace. He slipped one earphone in and was about to put the other in, when there was a tap on his shoulder.

Tom turned around and saw Tord standing there, looking rather apprehensive and twisting the wire of his earphones between the fingers of one hand. "D-Do you mind if I walk, w-with you?" 

Tom blinked in surprise. "Um, sure." A smile widened Tord's lips and his eyes lit up in excitement. They stood there for a moment, before Tom took the initiative and turned to start walking. Tord quickly followed suit and fell into step with the other teen. 

Tom smirked in amusement as he noticed that Tord was taking twice as many strides as he was. He glanced sideways and smirked wider as he saw Tords forehead pucker is confusion and amusement. 

"What?" Tords frown deepened and his lower lip stuck out a little more.

Tom rolled his eyes and looked down at their legs pointedly. Tord looked down, then his head snapped back up and he scowled irritably at Tom. "Rude." Tom snorted and turned his music up a little more.

They walked together in silence for a while, all the while, Tom's thoughts whirled around his head. The things he'd overheard Tord saying in the library wouldn't leave his head and they niggled furiously in his mind. He wanted to say something, but there was still rather a long way until they reached his neighbourhood and he could quickly escape. Fuck.

Tom pulled out his earphone and took a deep breath. "Tord," he hesitated. "Did you mean what you said in the library earlier in the week? About me, I mean." 

Another frown furrowed Tord's brow. "What? What do you mean?"

Tom sighed and licked his lips. "The other day, in the library, at school, you were talking with Edd and Matt, about me. You said I was rude and creepy." He paused. "Did you mean that?"

A look of understanding and realisation spread across Tords face. "Oh." He was silent for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth. "I did not say those things, but I..." He fell uncomfortably silent again.

Tord sighed. "I did not mean those things that Edd suggested. I just wanted to know what you were usually like; I thought it was just me you were rude to. I thought you did not like me. But then, I wanted to make friends with you, so I added you on Facebook and you added me back." He lapsed into silence again.

Tom huffed out a breath and looked down at the caramel haired boy. Tord had his eyes focused on the ground; he looked very uncomfortable. 

"I...I wasn't being rude to you only. I'm-I'm not really a nice guy, Tord. It's not really something I'm good at. I added you back on Facebook because I felt bad about being rude and, you seem like a nice guy; I want to be friends with you, if you want."

There was silence for a moment. "Okay. Is good to know it is not just me. But, I would like to be friends with you, Thomas. Maybe we can work on your 'niceness' together, eh?" Tord flashed him a nervous half grin.

Tom flinched a little and smiled back. "Tom works just fine. But, yeah, okay, we'll work on my 'niceness' together."


	5. Chapter 5

After the hurricane week Tom'd had, all he really wanted, was just a quiet weekend shut away in his room, listening to music turned up too loud and endless hours of scrolling pointlessly though the internet. Of course, Eleanor and Darren had other ideas. Apparently it was a 'nice day'. Theirs and Toms ideas of a 'nice day' were _very_ different. But Darren had made him promise to be out of the house by one thirty, or he'd force him out. Tom was pretty sure Darren couldn't _actually_ do that, but he didn't argue or answer back and just nodded his head silently and sullenly. 

It was currently something past twelve and Tom had opened up Facebook on his browser page. He scrolled down the page, eyes skimming tiredly over post after post. They were all the same, really. Either a helicopter mom announcing for the third time that day about her eldest child's antics, or a seemingly depressed teenager posting about first world problems, chain mail, their significant other or how they were going to kill themselves. Tom huffed out a heavy sigh. Now he just felt like shit. 

The _ping_  of a new message made him start so violently he bit his tongue. Cursing coloufully under his breath, Tom clicked on his inbox to see who the hell had decided to send him a message. Before he'd even seen who'd sent it, he knew it must have been a mistake of some kind; no one ever sent messages to him, at least, not purposefully. 

The message, was from Tord.

**Hello**

Tom swallowed hard. It was so simple, yet he could already feel the thin sheen of sweat beginning to slick his palms and made them horribly sticky. Fuck. He dragged his hands down his skinny jeans, leaving dark streaks across the black denim. His fingers glanced over the keys as he typed a reply.

_hey_

Tom hit send before he could change his mind. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so anxious. But it was making his stomach twist into uncomfortably tight knots and there was a steadily growing lump in his throat.

**How are you?**

He swallowed.

Was this it?

Did Tord just message him for pointless small talk? 

Tom took a deep breath and reminded himself about the conversation they'd had the day before as they walked home from school together. They'd decided to try forming a friendship and work on Tom's niceness, together. Tom wriggled his fingers and let them find their usual places on his keyboard.

_i'm_

He paused. How was he? Like, actually. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and carefully finished his reply.

_i'm okay. how are you?_

Usually, Tom frequented to text talk and abbreviations, but now, it just didn't feel appropriate. He wasn't even sure Tord would understand any of them; he didn't want to have to spend ages explaining them all, he just couldn't do that today.

**I am good, thank you.**

Tom started chewing his lip anxiously again.

Did he need to keep the conversation  going?

What should he say?

Another message pinged up and Tom let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. 

**Are you free today?**

Tom blinked at the screen. Realisation hit him; so that's why Tord was messaging him, he wanted to meet up and hang out...or something.

_yeah, my foster mum's making me go outside in an hour_

**You can come over to my house.**

Tom's insides went cold. Fuck. His hands cramped and he found himself wheezing a little for breath. They'd barely known each other a week, and had only decided to become friends the day before. It was too fucking soon to be going over to his house and shit like that.

Another incoming message from Tord made him jump, causing his laptop to slid mostly off his legs and dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He righted the computer and read the message.

**Or we could meet up in town, if you would like?**

How Tord could be so fucking formal in his messages, Tom had no idea. At least his typed English was better than his spoken. 

_sure. where at?_

**Do you know the little cafe in the center of town?**

Tom's heart seemed to stop palpitating a little and the knots in his lower stomach loosened themselves a tad. He swallowed with a little difficulty.

_which one? there're loads_

Okay, loads was a bit of an overstatement. There were, like, four, at the most. But still.

**The little green one**

Tom paused and thought for a moment.

_the weklend cafe?_

**Yes! That is the one!**

_sure, it's not too far from my house, should take me 5-10 minutes._

**Okay, I will meet you there.**

_okay. see you soon_

**Good bye Tom**

Tom shut the lid of his laptop without replying with a 'bye' back. Tugging on his hoodie, Tom reminded himself to breathe. He had no idea why he was freaking out so badly, but his hands were now minutely shaking and the lump had seemingly returned in the back of his throat. He swallowed as best he could and stood up fully.

Shoving his phone clumsily in his back pocket and grabbing his earphones, he hurried down the stairs and into the hallway. He was half way through cramming his feet into his favourite black and white checkered converse, when Eleanor, who was in the kitchen, seemed to notice he was there.

 "Where you off to then? It's not one thirty yet." She had gotten up from her stool by the island and was now leaning casually against the door frame, arms folded, watching him with a mildly suspicious look on her face.

"Meeting a guy from school in town." Keep it simple; maybe she'll ask less questions.

"Right." She paused. "A friend?" 

Tom hesitated.

Was Tord his friend?

"Not yet." The answer seemed to satisfy Eleanor, as she nodded and turned back to her work spread widely over the island.

"Well, have fun then." 

"Will do." 

Tom finished putting his shoes on and straightened up. He patted his pockets to make sure his phone was there, then left though the front door.

The walk to the park was a brisk one; the air was crisp and the breeze was sharp. Not very so, but just enough to be noticeable. Before he knew it, the street, that Weklend Cafe sat on, was coming up on his right and Tom found himself turning down it, crossing the moderately busy road carefully. He could see the Cafe's shamrock green sign hanging out from the wall, even as far away as he was at the top of the street. 

A hot, twisting feeling erupted in his lower stomach. Tom stopped in the street and bit his lip. His mind was suddenly in torment. Shaking his head at himself, he carried on walking until the green cafe door was directly to his left. Then he turned and gripped the door handle with shaking fingers. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The cafe was half empty and the noise level was merely a low, rumbling hum. Nobody really looked up when Tom entered and he was very thankful; his anxiety levels were already completely through the fucking roof. His eyes flickered across the room, taking in all the people. His eyes caught on Tord, who was waving in a very overexcited way, a wide grin on his face.

Tom found himself smiling shyly back and taking a seat opposite Tord at his chosen table. He paused his music and pulled out his earphones, then tucked his phone away in his pocket. Tord was still grinning as he pushed a rather full mug across the polished table to him.

Tom narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What is it?" He pointed to the drink and lowered his eyebrows.

Tord laughed, throwing his head back, his white teeth glinting in the lighting of the cafe. "Do you not trust me, Thomas?"

Obviously, Tom didn't hide his flinch well enough, because Tord's smile dropped a little and he muttered a quiet apology. Tom shook his head to dismiss it and looked pointedly back at the full, steaming mug in front of him.

"So, what is it?"

"White chocolate and caramel mocha." Tord smiled proudly and Tom rolled his eyes. He would never admit it, but he was sorta proud of Tord too, for making a very good drink choice. 

"Thanks." Tom sipped his mocha and cupped his light trembling, cold hands around the hot mug. He blew steam off the drink and took another sip.

"What've you got then?" He looked purposefully at Tord's mug; it was half empty and Tom wondered guiltily how long Tord had been waiting for him.

"Chai latte." 

Tom rolled black eyes. "Of course it is." Tord stuck his tongue out and took a deliberate gulp of his drink. Then let out a dramatic gasp as it burnt the back of his throat. Tom snorted with laughter and quirked an eyebrow at the Norwegian boy. Tord grinned back.

For a while, they sat in silence, just drinking their drinks and scrolling on their phones. Eventually, Tord slapped his phone down on the table.

"If we are to be friends, need to get to know each other, hm?" 

Ignoring his thumping heart, Tom nodded and turned off his own phone, before placing it down beside Tord's on the table top. 

"You ever played 20 questions?" Tord shook his head.

"Basically, we take turns to ask each other questions, to get to know each other better." Tom licked his lips and hoped the questions wouldn't get too personal, even though it was him that was suggesting the game.

"Okay. You start." Tord was watching him with curious eyes.

"Mmm.....What do you wish you knew more about?" 

Tord scrunched up his face in thought. 

 _Cute_.

Fuck, no. Tom shook the thought from his mind and looked back at Tord, awaiting his answer.

 "Hm...People."

Tom frowned in confusion. "People?" He prompted curiously.

"Yes. Why they do things. To understand them." Tord brow creased as he answered, clearly reflecting his confusion. Then his expression cleared and he looked back up at Tom with bright and eager eyes.

"My turn?" Tom nodded in reply.

"What job would you be terrible at?" 

Tom chewed his lip, then snorted as a thought came into his head. "Social worker or therapist."

"Why so?" Tord was watching him closely, as if he was studying his expression to understand Tom better.

"'Cause I'm shit at talking to people. An' I'm shit at comforting people and all that crap."

Tord shook his head slowly. "Sure you would be good at understanding their problems though." Tom shrugged and took a hearty sip of his mocha. Fuck, it was good.

"My turn...What's the most annoying habit other people have?" He tilted his head to watch Tord think carefully about his answer.

"Teachers who ignore people with the answer." Tom nodded in agreement.

"Are you usually early or late?"

"Mmm...Both, I guess. Sometimes, I get overly anxious and will be really fucking early. Other times, I won't really wanna be there, so I'll let myself be as late as I can, y'know?" Tord nodded and sipped his drink. Surely,  by now, it must have gone cold. Tom wanted to ask and offer to buy him another drink, but, for some reason, he didn't dare.

"Who has impressed you most with what they've accomplished?"

Without missing a beat, Tord answered the question instantaneously. "My dads."

"Dads?" Tom blinked at him with wide eyes, unsure if he'd misheard. 

"Yes, I have two."

"You have two dads, that are gay?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Tom paused. "So, why do they impress you?"

"Because they lived together in Poland. But they want to get married and Gay marriage is not legal there. They have friends in Norway, so they move and get married there. They adopted me and learnt Norwegian. Then, they move here and learn English too. They know it before, but they learn it better here, even though we have not been here long. They impress me because they move and adapt to change, with language and everything. I love them for it."

Silence fell over the two and they just let it settle gently over themselves. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, more of one of appreciation and admiration. 

They must have sat silently together for a while, because the next thing Tom knew, his mobile was vibrating in his jeans pocket. He scrambled to retrieve it and as the screen turned on, Eleanor's contact appeared.

"Shit." He muttered, then swiped to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Where are you!?"

"Um, Weklend Cafe, with a friend." In the corner of his eye, Tom saw Tord visibly brighten and sit up straighter.

"It's 5 o'clock, Tom! You could have at least texted to say you' be out late!"

Fuck. Was it really five already!? 

"Sorry. Lost track of time. I'll be home soon."

"Good; dinner'll be ready soon."

"Okay, see you soon."

As Tom pulled the phone from his ear, Eleanor hung up. He looked up at Tord, who was watching him with his azure eyes.

"Foster mom. I need to be home." 

Tord nodded. "Paul and Pat probably want me home, too." 

The two gulped down the last of their drinks and stood up in sync. They stood like that for a moment, then turned and left the cafe, Tord calling out a quiet 'bye' as they did so. They walked together in silence down the street in the direction of their respective homes. As per usual, Tom's house appeared first and Tord stopped as Tom turned to walk down the drive.

Tom hesitated, before turning back and facing Tord. He smile a little shyly. "I'll see you on Monday, then." 

Tord nodded and smiled back. "Yes. Have a good weekend."

Tom didn't reply as he walked to the door and stepped inside. He glanced back at the gate, where Tord had already continued walking. He smiled quietly to himself and ignored the warm, tingling feeling in his chest as he shut the door behind himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Somehow, it was already Friday. The week seemed to have slipped right through Tom's fingers and before he knew it, it was the last day of the school week. He and Tord had seen each other throughout the week. Well, in lessons, that is. They hadn't really interacted outside of school, or one-on-one in person, actually. They'd exchanged looks across classrooms and smiles in the corridors, but other than that....

Tom's stomach twisted with guilt. 

Was he trying had enough?

 _Should_ he be trying harder? 

Tom chewed his lip and tried to focus on the Geographical land forms that teacher was rambling on endlessly about. Anxiety thickened the already swollen lump in the base of his throat. He swallowed and almost choked.

Fuck.

He felt sick and shaky and like he was going to cry, all at once. Nausea washed over him in thick, heavy waves.

Tom stuck his shaking hand up. "Miss, can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher waved her hand at him absent mindedly. Tom stood up and picked up his bag in one swift movement. He barely made it to the boys bathroom, before he was clutching one of the white, plastic toilet seats, regurgitating his breakfast up into the porcelain bowl. His stomach continued to rebel, even after it was thoroughly empty. Tom belched sickeningly and slid down the dividing stall wall, shaking, hugging his knees to his chest, tearing stinging his eyes and mingling with the awful taste burning itself into his tongue. 

He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. The sick feeling still resided in his stomach, though he felt less nauseous now. He tipped his head back against the stall and breathed deeply. He knew he needed to go to First Aid, but part of him just wanted to stay there, on the filthy floor of the bathroom, beside the toilet. The pounding ache of a new headache began to make its presence known at the base of his skull, seeping upwards and behind his eyes, making the nausea return in frighteningly strong waves.

Tom lurched towards the toilet and retched violently into the bowl.

Nothing came up. 

He sat back on the floor, wheezing and sweating miserably. Fuck. He struggled to his feet and flushed the toilet. He needed to get to First Aid before the lesson ended. That way he could avoid the crush of the busy corridor in the mad rush between lessons. He scooped up his bag from where he'd carelessly dropped it on the floor when he'd first puked. His steps were shaky and unsteady as he made his way to the Nurse's office.

Within fifteen minutes, Eleanor was there to pick him up. She had an expression of deep concern when he appeared in the reception area with one of the receptionists. The drive home was a silent one, though Tom could tell she was desperate to mother hen him and pester him with endless questions. Thankfully, she did neither and left him to stare sullenly out of the passenger side window, his head resting heavily on his hand. Before he knew it, they were pulling into their driveway and the car engine was switching off. Eleanor took his bag for him and Tom shuffled into the house without a word. 

"Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap? Take these first." 

Tom wasn't sure when she'd had a chance to go into the kitchen and get painkillers, but she apparently had. He took them from her and swallowed them dry. The pills felt like they scraped the raw inside of his throat as they went down, making an uncomfortable feeling spread rapidly through the inside of his neck. He swallowed again to try and dislodge the feeling, but it stuck stubbornly and made his insides twist again.

His feet lead him up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he stripped off his jeans, zip-up and tee shirt, then pulled on a pair of overly loose sweatpants and a very over sized hoodie that almost reached down to his knees; it hung off him like a sheet on a hat stand. He pulled back the bedclothes and collapsed down onto the mattress.

*     *     *     *

The sound of someone descending down the stairs awoke Tom. Sleep seemed to glue his eyelids together as he forced himself awake and into the land of the living. He rolled onto his back and stared up the ceiling. Tom lay there for a while, half awake, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. In his peripheral vision, he could see his laptop. Part of his mind wondered if Tord had messaged him. 

Curiosity got the better of him and Tom found himself leaning forwards and sliding the laptop onto his quilt covered legs. As he logged onto the device, he realised how much better he felt. He wondered if it had been anxiety and overthinking or just a bug all along. 

Opening up Facebook, Tom noted that it was already half past five. That meant he'd slept around six or seven hours. Jesus fucking Christ. Several messages popped up on the screen as Tom clicked on the messenger ares of the app.

**Hello Tom. Matt told me you ran out of Geography to go to the bathroom. He said you didn't come back in. Are you okay?**

**You weren't in Maths. You missed a great test.**

**Hello Tom. Just check how you're doing. Let me know if you're okay.**

**Tom?**

Guilt twisted Tom's stomach again and he forcefully reminded himself he had been ill and then sleeping; it wasn't his fault he couldn't and didn't reply to Tord's messages. His fingers halted over the keys and he pondered on what to write back.

How should he respond?

_hey tord. i ran out of geography to throw up. sorry i wasn't in maths._

_sorry i didn't reply to your messages, i was sleeping_

He added the last message hastily, in case Tord was angry or annoyed about it, or something. Within moments, a little bubble with three dots in it appeared, meaning Tord was typing. Tom waited apprehensively.

**Okay, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.**

There was a pause, then a second message came through.

**Are you okay?**

_i think so. i just came home and slept for like 7 hours, so_

**What a nice nap**

Tom smirked at Tord's sarcasm. His fingers hovered over the keys again. He didn't want the conversation to end, but he wasn't sure how to keep it going either. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and scrunched up his face in thought.

_you busy this weekend?_

**No, I don't believe so**

_wanna go to the park, or something?_

Tord's reply came through instantaneously.

**Of course**

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Tom's body and he felt weirdly excited, in a way he never had before, especially not about a social event with another person, especailly not a one-on-one event with someone he'd barely known two weeks.

_tomorrow at 2?_

**Okay. Which area of the park?**

_you know that big flowy willow tree?_

**Yes**

_the bench there_

**Okay**

_tomorrow then_

**My parents are calling me for dinner, goodbye Tom. Have a good evening.**

_you too. bye Tord_

Tord's user switched onto inactive and Tom logged off, before closing the lid of his laptop, a wide smile stretching his lips into a broad curve. 

 

Fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

"Where're you off to then?"

Tom jerked around, wide eyed. Eleanor stood, eyebrows raised, hands on hips, looking at him with a knowing grin on her face. 

Tom blinked at her. "What?"

She sighed fondly. "You got that skip in your step."

Tom pulled a face, wrinkling his nose and lowering his eye brows. " _What_ skip?"

"The one that means you're up to something."

"Up to something? I'm not up to _anything_.

Eleanor gave him a look that said she believed fuck all of what he said. "So where're you going then?"

Tom turned away from her and continued making a sandwich, like he had been doing before she made him jump. "I'm meeting up with a friend, in the park."

"Same friend you met up with the other weekend?" Eleanor regarded him with a careful look as Tom nodded. She ran her tongue over her lips and pursed them in thought.

"He a nice lad?" 

Tom wasn't quite sure how she knew the friend, he'd said next to nothing about, was male. But then again, she was a mother, and mothers know everything. "Yeah, he's cool. He's from Norway."

Eleanor nodded, obviously satisfied with his choice of friend. "Well have a nice time then." Tom nodded and shoved the sandwich hastily into his mouth.

*     *     *     *

The park was half empty when Tom got there, though most of the people in it were either parents with their kids, standing by the playground, or people with cameras and books, clearly just enjoying the fresh air and nature surrounding them.

The bench beneath the weeping willow was unoccupied, as Tom had hoped and he sat silently upon it, with one earphone in. He was fifteen minutes early, though he blamed his stupid anxiety for that. He knew there was no real, logical reason for being early, but some part of his mind told him it was absolutely necessary for him to be extra early, just so he wasn't late and didn't make an complete fool of himself.

Part of Tom wished he'd gotten Tord's number, so he could text him and find out how far away he was and how soon he'd be there, sitting under the tumbling branches of the weeping willow, beside Tom on the wooden bench. Twisting his earphone cord tighter around his fingers, Tom fidgeted. He suddenly felt overly nervous about the whole thing. A sick feeling was rising in his stomach and there was a lump in his throat. His stomach churned and sweat was dampening his palms.

Then, the flowing branches were being swept aside and Tord was entering into the shaded haven of the Weeping Willow tree, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. Tom felt the sick feeling begin to abate and his entire body relaxed against the stiff back of the bench. A smile widened his lips.

"Tom, is good to see you. How are you feeling?" Tord sat down on the bench as he spoke, turning his head to watch Tom.

"I'm-I'm okay. Just...shaky, y'know?" Tom really hoped Tord would understand; it would be fucking awful to have to explain it all.

Luckily, Tord nodded calmly. Then he pointed to Tom's earphone. "What are you listening to?"

"Throne, by Bring Me The Horizon." 

Tord nodded, though he looked a little lost. 

"They're a British metal band; wanna listen?" When Tord nodded, Tom handed him the other earphone, and they sat side by side in silence, listening to the music thrumming through the wires and speakers. 

"What kind of music do you like?" Tord turned his head towards Tom as if to say "what? Me?" 

He shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Same as you, I guess, but a little more Norwegian." He clicked on the music app and scrolled down the artists.

"Animal Alpha, Dunderbeist, Djerv and Kvelertak are my favourites."

Tom nodded; the sound of Tord speaking Norwegian was incredible to his ears. "What do they mean?" He frowned a little. "The Norwegian words, I mean."

Tord laughed. "I know what you mean. Kvelertak means choke and Dunderbeist roughly translates to English as Noisy Beast. You should listen to them, I think you would like their music."

"Yeah?" Tom grinned at Tord. "There's some bands you should listen to as well. Make a list on your phone." He waited for Tord to open up the notes app before continuing.

"Set It Off."

"Yep."

"Falling In Reverse."

"Yep."

"Bring Me The Horizon."

"Okay."

"Halestorm."

"Okay."

"Avenged Sevenfold."

"Yep."

"My Chemical Romance, though they've broken up now."

"So have Animal Alpha. One of their band members, Agnete Kjølsrud, became part of Djerv."

"Um, Black Veil Brides, too."

"That all?"

"Uh, maybe Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens, too. I'll get back to you with some more later, maybe."

Tord grinned teasingly. "I am going to be busy then."

Tom laughed, throwing his head back. For the first time in days, he felt actually happy and not like there was some kind of miserable, grey haze settling over him.

Watching him for a moment, Tord said. "You said you threw up yesterday. A sickness?"

Tom shrugged casually. "Dunno, just, suddenly felt sick and had to bolt. 'M okay now, though. Probably anxiety, or whatever."

A deep frown creased Tord's forehead and puckered his brow. For a moment, he looked severely concerned. "Anxiety over what?"

Tom worried his lower lip between his pointed teeth. Should he tell Tord the real reason? Doubt wormed his stomach into tight twisting knots. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"We didn't talk much this past week at school, and I was worried I'd done something to annoy you, or that I wasn't trying hard enough with this, friendship, thingy." 

The look of concern on Tord's face increased and began to develop into one of sadness too. Fuck. Tom swallowed hard; he was feeling sick again. He'd met up with Tord to escape all these shitty feelings, yet here he was again, feeling sick and like he just wanted to run away.

"Tom, look at me." Tom lifted his head cautiously and locked his dark pools onto Tord's hazel eyes.

"We have not spoken because we have both been busy. Am not angry at you. Not annoyed. You did nothing wrong." Tord smiled encouragingly at him. "You do not need to try harder, you're doing fine. It is okay."

A weight seemed to lift from Tom's shoulders and he let out a heavy breath he didn't even know he had been holding. 

"Smile." 

Tom pushed the corners of his mouth timidly upwards. 

"That's it." Tord smiled back and relaxed back against the bench.

Ducking his head, Tom blushed uncomfortably. "'M sorry, this was meant to be fun, not depressing and shit. I didn't mean to ruin it." 

Tord blinked at him. "You are not ruining anything, Tom. Feeling should not be hidden; no reason to be. Should not be secrets in friendship. Just destroys it that way." 

"'M'kay." 

The two teenage boys sat in silence for a while, both of them still with one of Tom's earphones in. 

"Who is this?"

"Set It Off. Song's called The Haunting."

Tord nodded. "You should meet my dads some time."

Tom's entire body went tense and his shoulders hunched up, in a defensive position. 

Widening his eyes, Tord quickly back tracked. "Maybe not yet."

Nodding in agreement, Tom forced himself to relax a little. "Yeah, not yet."


	8. Chapter 8

It was lunchtime and Tom was heading in the direction of the bleachers to sit with the usual kids, probably get a fag off Barney; he was dying for a cigarette, or at least something. He could see the misfit group from where he was, and something twisted in his stomach. He ignored it and pretended it wasn't there. His thoughts were all over the place and he zoned out for a moment, then-

"Tom!"

Tom was yanked from his thinking by someone calling his name. He turned and saw Tord jogging towards him with an excited grin on his face. He stopped just in front of Tom, barely out of breath and looking even more gleeful; the complete opposite of how Tom felt at that moment.

"Tom."

Managing a weak smile to appease his friend, Tom blinked. "Hey, Tord."

Tord made a beckoning gesture with his hand. "Come join Edd, Matt and I. Eat lunch with us."

Tom felt his entire body tense and his shoulders hunched upwards. "Well, I don't know...I don't think they like me, and I don't want to intrude.." He trailed off.

The Norwegian huffed and rolled his eyes like Tom was speaking absolute rubbish. "That is because they  _do not know you_. You would not be intruding; I invite you."

Tom scrunched up his face and exhaled heavily. "Okay." He agreed quietly. He received a broad grin in reply.

Then, Tord turned and led him to their table. As they walked, Tom glanced down at his hands; they were shaking and his palms gleamed with a thin sheen of tacky sweat. He shoved them deep into his pockets and hoped Tord hadn't noticed. They approached the table, where Edd and Matt were already seated side by side, probably holding hands under the table. They looked to be in deep conversation with each other, but then turned when the two friends reached them.

Edd forced a an overly happy smile onto his face when he spotted Tom. 

"Hello." He greeted. Thankfully he didn't stand up and offer his hand for it to be shook; that would have been just a step too far for Tom. 

Tord sat down first and tugged the chair beside himself out a little, directing Tom where to sit. Tom sat, and desperately hoped no one would notice he was shaking uncontrollably. He stared down at his lap and tried to remember how to breathe. The corner of Tord's lilac pastel hoodie caught Tom's eye, and he found himself reaching out and taking it between two trembling fingertips. He ran the pads of his fingers over the soft material and tried to focus on being in the moment and not drifting.

"You okay?" 

Tord's soft voice didn't make Tom jump, but he did clench the fabric a little tighter. He shrugged in reply to the question without detaching his focus from the hoodie. 

"Are shaking."

"I know." Tom was surprised how quiet his voice came out, and how unstable it sounded.

Tord's hand slid off the table and snaked down his side, to where Tom was playing with the edge of his hoodie. He laced their fingers together and squeezed Tom's hand. Tom squeezed back and lifted his head to look up at Edd and Matt, as if he was actually present at the table and not mentally vacant. Tord didn't seem to care at all about Tom's sweaty palms, nor the tremors that continued to wrack his body endlessly.

"Um, Tom?" 

Tom refocused his eyes and noticed Edd looking at him. He tipped up his chin.

"Did..we have homework from Chemistry?"

Tom blinked, then remembered he and Edd were in the same class for Chemistry, even if they sat on complete opposite sides of the classroom. He licked his lips and desperately hoped his voice wouldn't fail him.

"Uh, yeah, I think." He paused, then frowned. "Didn't we have that sheet..that Sir gave out?"

Edd hesitated his thought, biting his lower lip a little. "Yeah." He extended the 'y' as he spoke. "I think I have it in my bag, hold on, let me check real quick." Edd dived under the table in search for his bag. Meanwhile, Tord squeezed Tom's hand again for reassurance. Then, Edd appeared again, a slightly crumpled sheet clasped tightly in his hand.

"You mean this one?" He pushed the sheet across the table towards Tom, who glanced over it briefly.

"Yeah, that one. It's for Wednesday." Edd nodded and took the sheet back, before shoving it roughly back in his bag.

They lapsed into silence again. Matt quickly picked up a conversation topic with Edd, leaving Tom and Tord sitting quietly together. Tom bowed his head a little and focused on the hand entwined with Tord's. He breathed steadily for several moment, then a hand nudged against his shoulder. Lifting his head, he saw Tord offering him an earbud. 

"Thanks." Tom mumbled, taking the earphone and slotting it into his ear. the sound of Norwegian metal filled his ears. He leaned more against Tord and thought.

*     *     *     *

"You're quiet today."

Tom blinked up from the spaghetti he'd been pushing round his plate, for god knows how long. Darren were watching him consciously concerned expressions, like he knew something was up and was waiting for him to address it. Eleanor was having dinner with a small group of her friends.

Tom sighed and put his fork down. "How did you know you liked Eleanor?"

Darren looked mildly surprised, though he didn't comment on it. He cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the table. 

"Well, I guess, I didn't really realise, until my friends asked me about it. They said I saw always extra friendly with her, yet slightly shy. Apparently I always stared after her and would zone out, staring. After that, I noticed it myself." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

Tom's eyes widened a little, then he picked up his fork and shoveled a mouthful of pasta in. He shrugged. "No reason."

Darren nodded slowly, but said nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up." 

Tom pressed the mobile firmly against his ear, muttering to himself in a half mantra. He swore under his breath as the call went to voicemail for the third time. Fuck. Why wouldn't Tord just fucking pick up? Tom stopped walking and focused on his breathing for several long moments, then he took a moment to think; properly. 

What was Tord's address?

Fuck. Tord had told him once, but Tom couldn't remember it exactly. He had seen the house, from the outside, once, when Tord had wanted to get something he'd left at home and requested they walk over, even if Tom didn't come in. He could roughly remember how to get there. He'd probably see somethings he recognised, anyway.

Why wasn't Tord picking up? What if he was busy? What if he was out?

Tom chewed his lip and considered these anxieties. Tord just might not have his phone on him. Or it might be on silent. If he was busy, then Tom could wait; he just wanted to get away from home and out of the goddamn rain. If he was out, Tom could wait on his doorstep...or something.

The walk to Tord's house was a fucking miserable one. Tom kept turning down the wrong street, realising more than half way along it, and turning back around. He kept doubting himself, all the way there, wanting to turn back, desperately wishing Tord to pick up the phone, or at least call him back. Eventually, the house came into view and Tom found himself wobbling down the drive way, to the front door. He beat the knocker against the door before a second thought, then stepped back shakily and hugged his arms to himself.

The door swung open to reveal a tall man in a red turtle neck sweater. He had long hair, for a guy, mostly tied back in a messy ponytail, with a fringe curtain parted in the front. The man took one look at Tom, blinked, then turned his head and yelled "Tord!" over his shoulder. He turned back to Tom and ushered him in, saying "I'm Patryk; Tord'll be here in a minute. Take your shoes off." 

Blindly, Tom toed off his shoes and stood, trembling, in Patryk's gaze, while the sound of footsteps down the stairs grew closer. 

"Better be important; I'm busy with-" Tord cut himself off as he entered the hallway and he caught sight of Tom. 

"Fuck, Tom." He hissed through his teeth. "You okay?" 

Tom shook his head and finally gave into his emotions as tears erupted from his eyes and spilled soundlessly down his cheeks. Tord pulled him into a tight hug, even though he was considerably shorter than Tom. Patryk must have asked Tord something, because Tom felt Tord nod and the sound of bare feet on wooden floorboards faded out behind him. 

After some time, Tom pulled back from the hug, roughly wiping his eyes with the butts of his palms, sniffing heavily. Tord watched him for a moment. 

"You are wet." 

Tom nodded. "'S raining." 

Tord laced his fingers through Tom's. "Come. Have a shower. Put on warm clothes."

Tom shook his head and sniffed. "Your clothes won't fit me."

"You can borrow some of Pat's. May be a little big. Pau is wider and shorter than you." Tord pulled Tom to the stairs. They kept their fingers laced as they ascended up, though it was difficult, and probably not advisable, nor safe. 

"Bathroom is there. My bedroom there. Take a shower, then come to my room. I will put clothes in the bathroom when you in shower." Tom nodded. He dropped Tord's hand to enter the bathroom. His skin felt weirdly cold and his hand strangely empty as he pushed the door open to the bathroom. The click of the lock made his heart settle a bit and the tremors subside slightly.

Tord's bedroom was not at all what Tom expected. To be honest, he wasn't really sure what he expected. He felt weirdly out of place, and yet right at home, in the room. The walls were painted red and the carpet was grey, with darker, slate grey curtains. There was a double bed at one side of the room, with a mildly cluttered desk along the opposite wall. A large speaker and dock system sat against another wall and a TV with console sat against another one. All four walls were decorated with framed photo collections and posters taped or bluetacked up. It felt very Tord. 

"Clothes not too big?"

Tom jumped; he'd forgotten Tord was there. He turned, nodding. The sweatpants had fitted alright around the waist, but the cuffs of the pant legs pooled so badly around his ankles, he'd tripped several times, and resulted to rolling them, ignoring how ridiculously stupid he knew it looked. Tord had given him a burgundy tee shirt and a loose grey hoodie as well. Both garments were a little broad on his shoulders and hung more than halfway down his thighs. 

"No." That was a half lie.

 Tord regard him with a careful expression, like he was thinking over his next words. "What happened?" Was what he ended up with. Tom bit his lip and continued to linger in the doorway to the room. Tord patted the bed beside himself and scooted over a little. Tom hesitated, then climbed onto the bed and sat beside Tord, so their sides were pressed together, and their fingers were laced with each others. 

"I had a fight with Eleanor and Darren, my foster parents." He paused and took a deep breath. "They're worried about me. They think I'm not doing okay. They want me to get help...or something. I don't know. Eleanor says I'm missing too much school and she thinks I'm spending too much time by myself. Darren thinks I'm being a moody teenager and it's 'cause 'm not getting enough exercise, or sunlight, or something fucking stupid like that. I argued that it had nothing to do with that, and if they actually cared, they'd understand what I'm going through. Darren started yelling. I flinched and wanted to hide, cause of my fucked up past and all the shit I've been through. He stood up and raised his hand. I don't have a fuckin' clue what he was gonna do, but I cowered and whimpered like a fucking weakling. Their eyes went all wide and Darren went to apologise, but I just hightailed the fuck outta there." Tom trailed off and the two teenage boys sat in silence.

"I am sorry." 

Tom shrugged. "'S not your fault; you got nothin' to apologise for."

"You're staying the night." Tord said after a beat of silence.

A weak smile tugged at the corners of Tom's lips. "I  got no choice in that then?" 

"I spoke to Pau and Pat about it; they didn't mind. Said I could sleep up here with you, make sure you're okay." He hesitated. "Pat was worried...about you...because he saw how...distraught...you were." 

Tom nodded and licked his lips. "Yeah. They seem nice, your dads."

Tord laughed. "You haven't met Paul, yet."

Tom's eyes went wide and he shrunk away a little bit.

"Fæn. I meant he is grumpy as helvete. Pat is nice, but sarcastic, too." Tom blinked at the Norwegian language as it slipped over Tord's tongue, like butter over hot toast. 

"What does that mean?" He blurted, before he could stop himself.

"Hm? Oh. Fæn, means fuck. Helvete means hell. I feel comfortable with you, so I forget I am not in Norway anymore."

Tom's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed hard, before sitting in silence. 

"You okay?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Just tired." He hesitated. "Can we go to bed? I know it's early."

Tord shrugged. "If you want; nine thirty is not that early, though."

Tom waited in the bedroom, while Tord went and talked to his dads. Their voices drifted up through the floor, ringing muffled words through Tom's ears. Eventually, Tord reappeared, carrying an extra duvet and several, large pillows. He set the makeshift bed up on the floor, before switching out the light, leaving them in the dark.

He tried to sleep, honestly. But it just wouldn't come. At some point, for some fucking reason, he started crying. Tom tried to keep his sniffling quiet, but then Tord was crawling into the bed behind him and wrapping his toned arms around his waist. It wasn't long, before Tom felt someone tracing delicate lines across his chest in feather-like movements. 

Sleep, then, came easy.


	10. Chapter 10

As sunlight streamed through the drawn curtains, Tom awoke. His first thought, was one of panic; but then memories of the events from the night before came flooding back and he, all of a sudden, became aware of a warm body pressing firmly against his back.

Tord.

Tom held his breath and tried not to focus, too much, on the arm loosely holding him against said person. It suddenly felt like too much; he needed to get away. Trying not to disturb the other boy, Tom wiggled from Tord's grasp. He managed to extract himself and sat shakily on the edge of the double bed, gripping the mattress with white knuckled fingers, breathing shakily and attempting to push the nausea from his throat.

"Tom? You okay?" 

Fuck.

Without turning his head, Tom nodded. "Yeah, just gimme a minute." He could practically hear Tord blinking owlishly, through the tendrils of sleep, at him.

"What is the matter?"

Fuck. He didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not to anyone, especially Tord. He sighed. "It was too much."

"What was too much?" 

"The contact, the cuddling. It got too much."

"Do you not like that kind of thing?" The frown was evident in Tord's voice. "Is fine, if you don't." He added quickly.

Tom shook his head. "No. I do like it. Just, sometimes, my mind goes into, like, overdrive, and everything is suddenly too much, and I just gotta get away and breathe." 

For a moment, there was silence, then- "Breathe, Tom. Is okay." 

Tom realised he'd been holding his breath, and then, it was like everything was swimming and swirling underwater. He exhaled harshly, and gasped in another breath, and another, and another. His vision blurred and his chest constricted. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't-

A pair of warm hands gently, but firmly, griped his shoulders; grounding him.

"Breathe with me, Tom." The voice cut through the sea of white noise; his chest seemed to loosen, just a little. 

"In and out. In and out. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight."

Tom tried, he really did, but the breaths caught in his throat and stuttered out through his chapped lips. 

"Breathe with me. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight." 

Tom found himself coming back to reality, his chest loosening and the pounding of blood in his ears lessening. Tord's hands dropped to Tom's knees, and Tom gripped them with his own, before they could move away. Tord squeezed back.

"Okay. Tell me five things you can see, Tom."

Tom licked his lips shakily. "Your eyes." He breathed. "Your messy hair. Your hoodie. Your nose. Your face. You."

A small smile of amusement flickered across Tord's lips. "Tell me, four things you can touch, Tom." 

"Your hands." Tom raised his hand and traced a trembling fingertip along Tord's face. "Your jaw." He touched Tord's cheekbone. "Your cheek." He ran the pad of his thumb down the bridge of Tord's nose. "Your nose." He bushed a few stray hairs from Tord's eyes. "Your hair." He ghosted a finger down Tord's face. "You."

"Tell me three things you can hear, Tom." 

"Your voice. The coffee machine downstairs. The birds outside." 

"Tell me two things you can smell."

Tom inhaled slowly. "Your deodorant. You."

Tord was close to his face, and watching him with bright eyes. "Tell me one thing you can taste, Tom."

"You."

Tom leaned in and their lips met.

It wasn't a perfect kiss, like the ones you hear about, or see in the movies. Their noses bumped awkwardly, and neither was quite sure what to do. Then, Tord drew back. He cupped Tom's face, then tilted his head and pressed their lips together once more. Tom found Tord's upper lip between his own, and they moved together, their heads shifting and their lips pushing together.

*     *     *     *

The Larson family kitchen was not completely silent when Tom and Tord entered it. Tom was adorning his jeans from the day before, along with an over sized tee shirt and hoodie from Tord, which fit him fine. The hoodie was a pastel blue zip up one, which paired well with the loose grey shirt. His hair was still, somehow, a little damp from the night before, sticking up in its usual spikes. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, was Patryk, on his phone, with a mug in his hand. On the other side, was a man with messy brown hair. He had a general look of scruffiness about him, with his hair, and the unshaven whiskers on his cheeks and jaw, along with the slightly bent cigarette clamped loosely between his lips. He reminded Tom of his father, yet not at the same time. 

Patryk looked up at them and smiled pleasantly. "Morning, boys." He looked at Tom, then gestured to the man opposite him at the table. "This is my husband, Paul; he may act like a grumpy asshole, but he's really a softy underneath." 

Paul looked up from the newspaper spread out on the before him and glared pointedly at Patryk. Tord rolled his eyes, and tugged Tom in the direction of the fridge, their fingers still intertwined. 

"What do you want?" 

"What do you have?" Tom couldn't get the thought of kissing Tord out pf his mind. It was distracting him and making a distinct warmth stir in the pit of his stomach, as well as further down in a place he wished it wouldn't. He bit his lower lip, hard, as an attempt to refocus his wandering attention.

"We have many things; toast, cereal, yogurt, porridge, coffee, tea, milk." "I'm having toast and coffee, if that helps." He added when Tom continued to stare at him with an uncertain look of confusion.

"Um, I'll have the same as you then." Tord grinned at Tom's response and set about slotting bread in the toaster. 

"Tom, is it?" 

Tom spun around and found both Paul looking at him like he was specimen that needed studying; it made him largely uncomfortable. He nodded, already dreading where the conversation was going.

Paul sat back in his chair, nodding in thought. "What's your last name?"

Licking his lips, "Ridgewell," Tom replied.

Paul frowned and leaned back forward again. "Have you lived in this area long?"

Tom shook his head. "No, not really; moved kind of recently." 

"Right. What subjects are you studying?" 

Patryk rolled his eyes. "Paul, stop grilling the poor lad." He looked at Tom. "Just ignore him, he's trying to intimidate you." Tom managed a weak, forced smile and decided to wait for Tord. 

Luckily, it wasn't long before Tord was walking to the kitchen table, with two full mugs in one hand and the two plates stacked up the other arm. As a mug and plate of toast was set down before him, Tom remembered he hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. His stomach growled; if anyone noticed, they didn't say anything. 

Breakfast ended all too soon and Tom knew he had to go home and face Eleanor and Darren. He felt antsy and couldn't sit still. He picked at a loose thread in his jeans. 

"Do you want a lift home, Tom?" 

All eyes were on Tom as he sat up a little more from his slouch. "No, thank you, I'll be okay walking."

"Alright. Tord can walk with you." Tom opened his mouth to argue, then he saw the look on Tord's face, and quickly closed it again.

*     *     *     *

It was mizzling when they left the house and Tom didn't have a jacket. The rain splattered across his face and trickled down the back of his collar. His hands trembled as they walked, either from the cold or anxiety; Tom couldn't tell. Fingers laced themselves with his and squeezed tight. Tom swallowed and squeezed back. 

All too soon, Tom's house was appearing on the right. 

They stopped at the top of the driveway, Tom shaking and Tord hugging him, even though he was a good head shorter than Tom: he was only 5'7" at the most. 

"I should probably go inside; they'll be wanting to see me." 

"You be okay?" The was a look of deep concern etched into Tord's features. 

Tom sighed quietly. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll message you later?" This seemed to satisfy Tord, as he nodded with a small smile.

There was a moment of silence, then Tom found himself leaning down and pairing his lips wit hTords. 

When he pulled back, Tom knew his cheeks were flushed pink, just as Tords were. Then, he was pushing open the gate and turning the door handle and stepping inside. 


	11. Chapter 11

The house was silent as the front door clicked shut behind Tom; it rung painfully in his ears. The sound of his breathing seemed to echo through the hallway and Tom wished it wouldn't. He didn't bother to toe off his shoes and he padded down the hall in the direction of the living room.; something told him they'd be in there, waiting anxiously. The door was ajar and Tom nudged it open, then watched as Eleanor and Darren turned at the noise.

Eleanor looked as if she hadn't slept, her face pale and drawn, the wrinkles usually hidden beneath her infectious smile, were ever present and snaking across her skin, silver white, the shadows beneath her eyes reminding Tom dangerously of his own. Darren looked as though he'd gained ten years; he looked tired and regretful. The room was in complete disarray, as well. The sofa was a mess of blankets and cushions and both adults had their mobiles in their hands, with the home phone and the phone book spread open on the coffee table, which was cluttered also with coffee stained mugs and a half eaten plate of toast. 

"Tom."

Eleanor spoke so suddenly and softly, Tom would have missed it, had he not been holding his breath so his stomach wouldn't abruptly rebel, or something. For a long moment, the room was blanketed in a heavy, almost suffocating, silence. Then Eleanor was rushing over, her slippers hushing across the shag carpet, her arms flung wide, her eyes glazing over, shiny. She embraced him so tightly, Tom felt his ribs creak and the air rushed out of his lungs in a heavy exhale. His arms were shaking as he hugged her back. Then, Darren was there, too, sandwiching Tom between them in a painfully cliche moment. 

It felt like forever as they stood there, the moments running into each other over and over again as Tom felt his heart thump in an anxiety driven manner; a large part of him was still terrified for the reaction of Eleanor and Darren; what they were going to say when the hug was over.

Were they going to yell at him?

Would they say it was his fault?

Were they going to send him back?

As the three of them separated, Tom felt nausea rise up his throat, threatening to choke him. Darren faced him, his hands planted firmly, but gently, on Tom's shoulders. The regretful look was back on his face, mixed with an apologetic half smile.  

"Tom; I have never been more sorry in my entire life. I don't have an excuse, not really. I don't even really know what I was going to do; grasp your shoulder, I think. It was a thing of the moment." Darren paused to swallow hard and lick his lips. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I am asking you to, please, not feel like either one of us would ever,  _ever_ ,hurt you, Tom. Okay? I promise- we promise."

Tom flicked his eyes down towards the floor and nodded numbly. He wanted to say something, sorry, maybe, but his tongue felt too heavy, refused to work, and his jaw seemed to have locked itself shut, the muscles clenched tight. Instead, he focused on his breathing, counting the breaths as they went in and counting as they went out; six counts in, five counts hold, eight counts out; like his counselor had taught him when he'd had one. 

"Tom? You okay?" Eleanor sounded concerned, but like she didn't want to annoy him by pestering him. She almost sounded cautious, like he could turn round and lash out at any given moment.

Tom raised his head and looked between his foster parents. "No." He answered truthfully. "No I'm not okay. But that's all right, because I know I'm not okay, and I'm slowly working on being okay, bit by bit." 

Eleanor smiled gently at him and Darren wrapped his arm around her waist. "As long as you're getting better; just tell us how we can help you, and we will do it, okay?" 

Tom nodded and let a small smile tug the corners of his mouth upwards. "Thank you, for being here for me." 

Eleanor waved his thanks away. "Go take a hot shower, put on some clean clothes and when you come back down I'll make you a hot chocolate and we'll watch a film; whatever one you want, yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Tom reached the hallway and kicked off his shoes, before hurrying up the stairs, before the murmur of voices now rising in the living room could reach his ears; he knew they were talking about him and what had just happened and he didn't care to hear what they had to say. He went straight to the bathroom, figuring he could pick out clothes after his shower, it'd be easier that way.

Alone in the bathroom, Tom felt himself let out a breath he was unaware he'd been holding. His shoulder felt a hundred times lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted from them. His chest had felt tight earlier, but now it was loose and easy to breathe, like whatever had been constricting it had been untied or cut away.

Tom twisted the lock shut and stripped his clothing off, dropping each item into the washing basket in turn, except Tord's hoodie, which he set aside to wear later. Now, naked, he stood before the mirror and stared at the pale, teenage boy staring back out at him. He picked out each feature and scrutinised it, wondering how Tord could like it, or him in general. 

His eyes were two black pools in his face, a genetic disorder that his mom had thoughfully passed down to him. His hair that always stuck up in significant spikes, no matter what the fuck you did to it. His piercings; all of them. They made him look like a fucking reckless punk (which, to be honest, he kinda was). Plus, when was the last time you saw a guy with three cartilage piercings in one ear one in the other with an industrial piercing? Exactly. Not to mention his shittyass personality. 

Tom sighed quietly and turned away from the mirror to run the shower.

*     *     *     *

Back in his bedroom, Tom stood before his wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. Usually, he wasn't one to spend ages choosing what to wear, but now he had Tord's pastel blue hoodie, he was attempting to at least decently match it with a couple things. He dug out a pair of, worn out, black sweatpants and a faded grey tee shirt, like the one he'd borrowed from Tord, except this one said 'Good Morning, I See The Assassins Have Failed' on the front in black lettering. 

Downstairs, Tom found Eleanor in the kitchen, a book open in her hands. She looked up and smiled at him when he came in. 

"Hot chocolate?" 

"Please." Tom nodded, taking a seat at the island as Eleanor got up to boil the kettle. 

"Where did you go last night?" The tone in Eleanor's voice, made her sound almost nervous for his reaction, as if she was afraid he might burst out with something, or get upset and yell.

"Tords." 

"Okay. Good. As long as you were as someone's house, and not outside in the rain." She paused. "Is that his hoodie?" 

Tom nodded. "One of them. I was soaked when I got there and one of Tord's dads, Patryk, let me in. I had a shower and borrowed some clothes." 

Eleanor nodded. "One of his dads?" She asked curiously.

"Yep; his dads are gay." 

"Ahh, right. Where are they from again?" 

"Paul and Patryk are originally from Poland, but they moved to Norway to get married, where they adopted Tord and then they moved here at some point." 

"They must be strong and resilient men to go through all of that and fight for their rights and what they want." 

Tom nodded in agreement, tracing patterns on the marble counter top with the tip of the nail on his right index finger. 

"Cinnamon?" 

"Please." 

For a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the occasional  _clink_ of the teaspoon hitting the inside of the mug as Eleanor stirred a little cinnamon into Tom's hot chocolate. 

"Cream, marshmallows and chocolate?" 

"Of course." Tom said like it was obvious (it was).

Eleanor set the mug down before him. It was a large, so full it was almost overflowing, with hot chocolate, topped with a handful of marshmallows, a peaked mountain of whipped cream and dusted with chocolate shavings. In other words, a classic Eleanor hot chocolate. 

"Thanks." 

"No problem, hon." Eleanor ruffled his damp hair; mostly because she knew it annoyed him. 

Tom made a noise of complaint and sipped his drink, smearing half melted cream across his upper lip. Licking the white moustache away, he plucked a drooping marshmallow out between two fingernails and popped it into his mouth. 

"So...how about a film then?" 

Tom nodded. "Is Kingsmen okay?" 

"Whatever you want." 


	12. Chapter 12

As per usual, the library was quiet and almost empty when Tom entered it before registration. He liked to go in there before school 'officially' started for the day; mostly because very few people resided around there at that time in the morning. Meaning, it was delightfully tranquil and Tom could concentrate on getting some quality reading time in. His favourite little nook, behind several towering bookshelves, was free of anyone and he collapsed, like a rag doll, into the squishy chair. 

As he pulled his book out of his backpack, Tom realised how long it'd been since he'd had a 'good day' like the one he was having. Everyone had good days and bad days and Tom's bad days always made themselves apparent from the moment Tom awoke in the morning; he'd wake up with a pounding headache and it was so fucking difficult to force himself out of bed to get dressed for the day. Even though all bad days started the same, they had two variations; one, where his thoughts seemed to race through his head at an uncontrollable speed, yet the world around him dragged by in almost slow motion, and the second, where his thoughts were like treacle and he just couldn't seem to force coherent words or sentences out of his mouth. One those bad days, the world seemed to race by, slipping in and out of Tom's focus, making him dizzy. 

It seemed like ages since Tom had actually had a 'good day'; not a 'bad day', nor a day where everything felt numb, or disassociated, or he felt like he was swimming through thick, heavy fog. Then there were the days that were a form of 'bad days', were everything felt like it was on high alert, and he overthought every single fucking thing. One those days, he often had numerous anxiety attacks, and he would get stuck in a constant mode of panic, with sweaty, shaking hands, nausea washing over him, a headache throbbing in his temples, his stomach churning, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, his breath catching in his throat and his body flickering repeatedly between too hot and too cold. 

Tom found where he'd last left off in his book and began to read. 

He'd only read a page and a half, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a slightly irritated huff, Tom slotted his bookmark into place and pulled out his phone; it was a text from Tord.

_Hello Tom. Are you at school yet?_

**yeah**

Tom hesitated, then added 

**im in the library. my usual spot**

before hitting the send button and sliding his mobile back into his pocket. He and Tord had gotten into this habit, introduced by Tord, which involved them texting each other every morning. It was always some boring mundane conversation with " _how are you?_ "s and " _did you sleep well?_ "s, ending with one of them getting to school before the other. Even though Tom despised small talk, he found himself missing their little chats when Tord was off sick a few days previously and was still asleep around the time they usually texted. They didn't always meet up in the morning, before registration, either; it depended how Tom was feeling. If he got to school first and he felt in the right space to see Tord, he would tell him where he was, other times, he wouldn't, and they would possibly see each other at break or lunch, or during lessons.

The sound of doors swinging shut echoed around the library and Tom couldn't help the small smile that tugged up the corners of his mouth. As much as he liked his space sometimes, Tom knew Tord was good for him; he helped with anxiety attacks and lifting his mood in general, though Tom knew he shouldn't be entirely dependent on Tord to escape from his poisonous thoughts.

"God morgen, elskede."

Tom looked up from his book to see Tord standing casually in the gap between the two tall bookcases, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, an earphone in one ear. He was wearing black skinny jeans, a shirt with "Let's get one thing straight I'm not" printed on it in rainbow lettering, and a hoodie of Tom's that he borrowed a few weeks prior and was still yet to return to its actual owner. 

"Hello." 

Tom slid his book back into his backpack and stood up from the chair. Standing before Tord, he was reminded, as usual, of their height difference. In his, and many other people's, opinion, their height difference was rather cute to behold. Tom leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against Tords lips, his fingers hooking gently around the back of the others ear. As he drew back, he noticed the beaming smile now widening Tords mouth; he rolled his eyes.

"How are you?" 

Tom shrugged casually, a smile flickering across his expression. "I'm doing okay; it's a good day today." 

"First one in a while." Tord sounded quietly pleased, like he wanted Tom to know he was, but didn't want to overcrowd him with excitement and praise at the top of his voice.

"Yeah. 'S'nice; almost kinda feel free. Like a bird that's been kept in a cage, suddenly let free to go fly." 

"Wow. Aren't you one for words this morning?" Tord laughed lightly as Tom ducked his head a little, hiding his face.

After he finished laughing, Tord hesitated, before speaking again. "Will you join Edd, Matt and I after school?" When Tom didn't immediately answer, he hastily added "If you want to, of course; you don't have to at all, if you don't want to." 

"I'd like to join you and your friends, Tord; stop worrying." 

*     *     *     *

 The usual fucked up teenagers were sat under the bleachers when Tom got there, part way into Lunch. As he slumped down in his usual spot beside a thick, concrete post, Barney held a cigarette out to him between two trembling fingers. Tom stared at it for several long seconds, before taking it and then the offered light as well.

With the burning cigarette clenched between his fingers and trails of smoke curling up out of his lips, Tom turned to Barney.

"This is gonna be the last one, Barney." 

"T-The l-las-st what-t?" 

"Time I sit with all you guys. Time I spend lunch under the bleachers. Time I smoke a cigarette." Tom took another drag and exhaled smoke out of his nostrils, like a vaguely depressed dragon.

"W-W-Why?" 

"I need to move on, Barney. I need to move on and improve myself and my life. I've got a boyfriend now, and he's made me realise how much I am and have been neglecting myself and my needs; so I'm leaving all the bad things behind and I'm improving all that needs to be and can be improved." 

Barney gave two slow, jerky nods. "G-Good luck-k." 

Tom smiled at him. "You too, Barney." 

*     *     *     *

At the end of every day, Tord went to his locker; Tom knew this, which is why he was sat on top of the lockers, waiting for Tord to arrive with Edd and Matt. He had an earphone in his left ear, with Linkin Park playing. He swayed gently to the music, mouthing the lyrics and completely losing himself in the song.

"Well well boys. Look at the Fag; doesn't he look happy? A bit too happy don't you think?" 

Tom rolled his eyes. "Fuck off, Eduardo." He switched off his phone and looked down at the bully with a mildly irritated look in his eyes.

"Oooh, gutsy. I like it." Eduardo cracked his knuckles and Tom rolled his eyes again. 

"Really? That's so cliche; the whole comment and cracking your knuckles thing. It's just stupid and it makes you look so." 

All three boys blinked in surprise at Tom and for a long moment, there was silence. 

Then Eduardo glowered and scowled hard at Tom. "You fucking what?! I'd watch your mouth if I were you, Ridgewell." 

"Would you now? Anyway, I don't have time for this; my boyfriend will be here any moment and I'm meant to be walking home with him and his friends, so do me a favour and fuck the hell off." 

The three boys all blinked again, then turned to look at each other, before looking back at Tom. Suddenly, the sound of male teenage voices coming down the corridor made them all turn their heads, to see Tord, Edd and Matt walking down the hall towards them.

Tord smiled at the bullies. "Hello. Can we help you?" 

Tom shook his head. "Nah. They were just leaving." 

Tord grinned. "Great. Bye bye then." He waved casually at the three bullies, before turning to look up at Tom, grinning impossibly wider. "How're you, Tom?" 

"I'm good, thank you." Tom slid fluidly off the top of the lockers and cupped Tords head in his hands, before planting his lips on his boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it guys!  
> I'd love to know what you thought about it and keep an eye out for any other TordTom fics (there are some more to come)


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